


curiosity

by kaptivated



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gore, I hate myself, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Stalking, Suicide, but not really because it doesn't lead into canon, endgame spoilers, pre-game, sorta because there's really nothing happy about this, when i say graphic depictions of violence i mean Graphic, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaptivated/pseuds/kaptivated
Summary: [V3 ENDGAME SPOILERS]What Saihara wants the most in this world is to kill someone else. He wants to try it once, just to see what it's like. He's curious. It's an important skill for a detective, that insatiable curiosity. Perhaps that's the reason he's become so fascinated with them.





	curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i tried my hand at writing wholesome saiouma fics, including christmas fluff and a college roommate au, but it was just So Hard... i'm really not satisfied with the way they turned out at all. then i get the terrible idea to write this mess of a fic, and suddenly i've spit out 3k words in one sitting. why am i like this? who knows.
> 
> i'm still not sure if i should be posting this but i already spent hours writing it so i might as well, i guess... i hope someone likes it, at least. please pay attention to the warning tags and steer clear if you need to.

There are only two things Shuuichi Saihara wants.  
  
What Saihara wants the most in this world is to kill someone else. He wants to try it once, just to see what it's like. He's curious. It's an important skill for a detective, that insatiable curiosity. Perhaps that's the reason he's become so fascinated with them.  
  
He's not sure when he became so fixated on murder specifically. It's not respectable by any means, but it's a lot more commonplace than people like to believe. At least, that's what Saihara has deduced over time. Maybe it was because of that, because of the way people brought it up in hushed voices as if guarding a juicy secret, that Saihara couldn't help his desire to know more.  
  
When asked about his hobbies, he calls himself a wannabe detective, going over cases for the thrill of it. It garners some odd looks, but it's nothing too preposterous, and he's used to being given even more scrutinizing glares.  
  
Detectives really are the best. They get to look over murder after murder, staring death in the face and making a living out of it. At least, some of them do. But Saihara doesn't really have a problem with more menial cases about things like divorce and missing persons, since they do end up bringing out the worst in people at times.  
  
It's amusing, really. Seeing the motives humans have for acting like savage animals. Over such trivial matters, they'll stab anyone in the back. All for the sake of their own selfish desires. It's fun. It's entertaining.  
  
That's why he's become particularly enamored with a certain television show. It's popular enough to have run for decades now, but hardly anyone has loved it as much as Saihara. He's yet to find anyone else who's memorized the names of every season's cast, who could explain each and every murder plan, who could recite half the trials word for word.  
  
Beyond that, he's not sure how many people would be as willing as he to look at images of the corpses for hours, studying every inch of their lifeless bodies and wondering what it would be like to feel them with his own hands. Would they be cold? Or perhaps still lingering with warmth, fresh from the kill? What would it be like to feel for a pulse and find complete silence?  
  
He likes the gory executions the most. Perfectly tailored to each individual and somehow becoming crueler and crueler with every chapter. He dreams sometimes about having one for himself. He thinks he'd like to have the grossest one yet, so it would be wonderful if they spilled out a lot of his organs. Out of curiosity and some idle boredom, he has prodded a bit at his stomach with a kitchen knife, but he never really had the guts (ha) to go through with it.  
  
Instead, he's decided to try it on whomever he selects as his victim. It took a few years, lots of sleepless nights, lots of meticulous planning, and lots of doubts, but he's finally decided. He's going to kill someone tonight.  
  
The biggest issue Saihara has with killing outside of Danganronpa is that not everyone wants to die. In Danganronpa, you can be sure that everyone who auditioned did so of their own free will, so if they do end up dead, it's really their own fault. Killing in the real world is different. There's a lot of consequences, legal or otherwise, that can't be waived by some contract.  
  
For example, when you kill someone, anyone who cared about them will certainly hold a grudge against you or take action to retaliate. Perhaps you could incur the wrath of a significant other. Perhaps you could cause the victim's parents to fall into a deep depression. Or perhaps you could kill the parents instead and leave the child alone in the world, with nothing to keep them from finding comfort in killing games and ideations of suicide.  
  
Well, Saihara had already decided long ago that he didn't care for his parents or the one that laid them to rest, so that's irrelevant.  
  
In any case, he's tried very hard to find the perfect target, one whose death would not cause any grief. After a few weeks of observing the boy's daily activities, Saihara made his choice.  
  
His name was Kokichi Ouma. The same age as Saihara, he attended a high school on the opposite side of town. He excelled in academics, but it didn't seem to bring him any joy. He was part of the chess club, but hardly spoke to any of the other members, leaving as soon as his games were done. He was extremely quiet, only really opening his mouth to apologize. At home, he did occasionally raise his voice in anger, but it usually ended in him crying silently in his room.  
  
By the way, Saihara broke into it once when no one was around to catch him. He found a lot of useless things - a notebook full of unfinished sketches, a trash can full of empty soda bottles, a closet full of old, tattered clothes. There were some weird things too, like the vibrator hidden beneath the mattress or the collection of figurines atop the wardrobe. What most caught Saihara's attention were the contents of the bedside drawer, which were nothing more than a bag of pills, a pair of scissors, and a slightly bloodied paper towel.  
  
From then on, Saihara kept a closer watch on Ouma and found that the boy cut from time to time. Just a few thin lines after a rough day.  
  
More importantly, it became increasingly clear to Saihara that the boy had no friends and his family had no desire to treat him like a worthwhile human being.  
  
(It struck a chord with Saihara, deep down.)  
  
The plan was to catch Ouma after chess club. On Fridays, instead of going straight home, he'd take a walk in the park nearby. There's a certain bench he likes to sit on, out in a far corner of the field, hidden deep in the trees. Perhaps he likes having that place to himself, someplace to hide and escape from the world for a while. Just as well, no one will be able to bear witness as Saihara tears the life out of him.  
  
On his way out the door, Saihara grabs a kitchen knife and tucks it into the back pocket of his bag. He turns off the lights, shuts off the fan. Out of habit more than anything, he says farewell and locks the door behind him.  
  
As he walks down the streets, all he can think about is the sound of his heart racing. It's overwhelming - he wonders if he'll faint before he can even arrive at the scene. Fortunately, he manages to make his way to Ouma's school, though his head is still in a mysterious daze.  
  
Just as expected, Ouma exits the school by himself, backpack slung over hunched shoulders. He's staring at the ground with an anxious sort of expression clouding his eyes. He looks as if he's about to cry, even more so than usual. Ah, but Saihara shouldn't know about what's "usual". He tries to shake the heavy feeling out of his body, remembering the script as planned.  
  
"Um, excuse me..." He walks up with a nervous smile. "Do you know how to get to the park around here? I must've gotten lost, somehow..."  
  
It's obviously bullshit, but Ouma seems too out of it, so he buys it. With a shaky, timid voice, he responds. "A-Ah, it's really close. I can walk you there, if you'd like?" Perhaps thinking his offer a bit too forward, he hastily adds, "I-I mean, I was already heading there, so...!"  
  
"That would be great, thanks."  
  
And so they walk in silence, Ouma leading the way on a path Saihara has already followed numerous times. He wonders vaguely about what's put Ouma in a tenser state than usual today, but decides it must not be too important, since he's about to die anyway.  
  
At a stoplight, Ouma tries to break the silence between them. "S-So, um... I guess you're not familiar with this part of town? What brings you here?"  
  
"The park."  
  
"A-Ah, well, I mean..." Saihara almost wants to laugh at how simultaneously cute and pitiful the boy is. "Are you meeting up with someone, or...?"  
  
"Hmm... I guess so." No need to mention that his date is already here and speaking to him.  
  
The light turns green and the boy continues marching toward his grave. They keep exchanging some meaningless banter, just boring words to fill the silence. When they finally arrive at the park's entrance, Saihara returns to the script.  
  
"Do you mind showing me around?"  
  
It clearly confuses Ouma, since his purple eyes seem to ask a million questions - _weren't you meeting with someone, why can't you do it yourself, what makes you want to stick around me?_ But after considering it for few moments, he agrees.  
  
"I usually just go along this one path, so I'm not sure how much help I can be..."  
  
"That's fine. I'll let you lead the way."  
  
They walk side by side, through dirt paths and across rickety wooden bridges. Saihara pretends to look around and take in the surroundings, but gives up on his charade when he notices that Ouma is not watching him at all. Strange, shouldn't he be a bit more on edge around a stranger? He seems to be covered in a thick gloom, posture sagging worse than usual. Did something happen at school? Or perhaps Ouma was apprehensive about returning home tonight?  
  
It doesn't really matter since he'll be dead soon, but Saihara figures it might be entertaining for the time being.  
  
"You seem a little down. Is something up?"  
  
As if shaken out of a dream, Ouma perks up. "A-Ah, well... It's nothing, really..."  
  
"Doesn't seem like nothing."  
  
Ouma bites his lip at that. Perhaps contemplating how to escape this awkward conversation? It would be nice if he could open up a bit and entertain Saihara, though he knows it's unlikely.  
  
That's another thing about humans that Saihara just can't wrap his head around. Around strangers, people will put up a facade of politeness, when really it's just a subtle way of pushing people away. Prying is rude, so it's not allowed. Like that, people are comfortable in their own rotten shells. He doesn't really understand why people shy away from his prodding questions, then go off and dump all their secrets on someone else they know better. He supposes that's another nuisance that detectives must undergo.  
  
Just then, Ouma manages to surprise him.  
  
"W-Well, it's just that I had an argument with a friend, I guess..." He laughs a bit, and it's dripping with self-deprecation. "But we're not really friends anymore. Or maybe we never were in the first place."  
  
When Saihara doesn't respond after what seems like an eternity of silence, Ouma retreats into his shell once more. "S-Sorry. It's really stupid. And it doesn't matter to you." Tears begin to prick at his eyes, though he tries to blink them back. "I-I'm making this really awkward, I'm sorry..."  
  
"Don't worry. I was the one who asked." They stop, two boys standing alone in the glow of sunset. Before he'd even realized it, they had arrived at the destination. Not a single person in sight. Gesturing toward the lonely bench, Saihara asks in as gentle a voice as he can summon, "Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
God must be smiling upon Saihara today, since Ouma surprises him yet again with a stiff nod. The boy, still shivering with the threat of tears, stumbles over to the bench, _his_ bench, and drops his backpack in the dirt.  
  
Saihara settles on the bench beside him, placing his bag in his lap. Absentmindedly, he toys with the zipper of the back pocket, thinking about how where he'd like to stab Ouma first. He'd like it if he could slice him up while keeping him alive, but it'd be bothersome if he screamed too loudly. So, maybe the throat first. If he's really lucky, he'll only cut up the windpipe.  
  
"I've known her for pretty much as long as I can remember," Ouma mumbles, his eyes out of focus. "M-my friend, I mean."  
  
Saihara nods to indicate that he's still listening. He pulls off his cap, stuffing it into the side of his bag. A gentle breeze stirs in his hair. Just a little, it carries Ouma's scent. It's almost as if he's in his room again.  
  
"But it's more like we just ended up spending time together because our parents know each other, not because we wanted to." He smiles grimly. "She's always been really good at everything. Sports, games, school. She's always up to some crazy, spontaneous plans. Like, once she sets her mind on something, she won't let anything stop her."  
  
Saihara hums in response. He's trying to think back on anyone who fits the description, based on the past few weeks he's spent observing Ouma. He can't seem to recall Ouma ever talking to a girl with any familiarity, but he doubts Ouma is making anything up.  
  
"She was homeschooled for a long time, until she decided to change it up and come to my high school. And, well, it's only been one year, but everyone loves her already." Ouma toys with a strand of his hair, shuffles his feet in the dirt. "I think she could make friends with anyone, if she wanted to."  
  
His downcast expression tells Saihara all he needs to know. _And you could never be like that, right?_  
  
"I guess... maybe I felt like I was being left behind or something. Since we'd known each other for so long. But now, it feels like she's forgotten all about me." A rut in the ground has appeared where Ouma's feet keep digging, his shoes layered in dust. "I-I mean, it's pretty selfish to think that way, right? She doesn't owe me anything, and I'm not very fun to hang out with anyway..."  
  
"But you can't help feeling that way?"  
  
He digs his hole a little deeper. "...Yeah. It's been bothering me for a long time now. So I figured I'd just let her know. I told myself I didn't really care how she responded. I just... wanted to be able to say it, you know? My feelings."  
  
Ouma chokes up a bit. Tears clearly dripping down his cheeks. He turns away to wipe at them, as if Saihara hadn't already noticed he was crying. "I..."  
  
He pauses, gathering his thoughts, his breath. Like a lightbulb, an image of a blonde girl appears in Saihara's mind. Ah. It's probably her, huh. The one at Ouma's school who was always causing a ruckus, laughing with her friends. Well, perhaps they were her friends only as much as Ouma was. That is, not friends at all and merely puppets used for entertainment, thrown away when they exhaust their use. That would explain why the crowd around her was always different every time Saihara saw them. It was as if she wouldn't let anyone near her. As if she could never put her faith in anyone.  
  
At least, that was the deduction Saihara had made. Who knows if it held any truth or not.  
  
Ouma finally speaks again. "I was just lying to myself. I think... I underestimated how much it would hurt. I-I don't know..."  
  
It truly is pitiful, the way the boy is crying, pouring his useless feelings out to a stranger who is only interested in killing him. It does make Saihara feel bad, just a little, but if something like this were to deter him, he wouldn't be here in the first place.  
  
He should end this soon.  
  
Casually, as if it were nothing at all, he pulls out the knife. It gleams so brilliantly in the sun's orange glow. His heart is pounding.  
  
"Kokichi Ouma."  
  
"E-Eh? How do you know my..." He turns his tearful eyes toward Saihara. Toward the knife in his hands. "...name...?"  
  
He's frozen. Completely frozen in place. Like a deer in headlights. Saihara loves it.  
  
"I'm going to kill you now."  
  
He lays his free hand on Ouma's trembling shoulder, holds him in place as he raises the knife and pierces his throat.  
  
For a brief second, a bizarre sound escapes his mouth, indistinguishable between the sound of choking, of gagging, of wailing. It's gone as soon as it comes. Saihara lays the body down on the bench, taking in its final expression. Its eyes, red from crying, are peeled back in shock. A milky glaze seems to have come over them, as if they were staring far into the distance. The mouth is slightly agape, as if it was about to speak. Inside, the tongue lays uselessly against a row of teeth.  
  
Saihara pulls out of the body, watching the way blood rushes to fill the wound, leaking out and soaking into the wood beneath. He's gotten a splotch of it on his fingers, which he wipes off on the body's pale cheeks. He lifts up its arm, rolling back the sleeve and pressing a hand against the wrist.  
  
Still a pulse, huh? He's not sure if that's normal. Can a heart still pump blood for a few moments even after the person dies? Like a crushed spider, its limbs twitching in a final display.  
  
Well, dead or not, it's fine as long as it doesn't make any loud noises. Saihara unbuttons the front of the uniform, marveling at the clean, pale skin beneath. An empty canvas.  
  
He draws a thin line down the middle, testing to see if there's any response. There is none. Unfortunately, he won't get any feedback on his work, but the silence does mean that he can take his time. He draws another line, deeper.  
  
Saihara marvels at the sight, running his fingers over every piece that slides out. It's got a weird, sticky but smooth texture. It's hard to get a proper grip and make clean cuts. There's a bunch of oddly colored liquids that ooze out of each organ, and he finds it interesting how each one is unique. Gaining more confidence, he experimentally pokes at whatever he can find. Surprisingly, he's able to cut off a few ribs. He tosses them aside when they start to get in the way.  
  
He's having so much fun that he hardly notices as the sun sets completely and he's left in the darkness. With nothing left inside except the cold, dead heart, Saihara wraps his hands around it. It's bigger than he expected it to be. In a strange spur of the moment impulse, he tears it out and brings it to his lips.  
  
It's soft. Smooth. It feels good against his skin. He could do without the smell, though.  
  
Like everything else, he takes his heart and throws it aside. He's satisfied, now. It really was fun. He's glad he decided to give murder a go. But it does leave him with a heavy feeling in his chest. He compares it to the emptiness he feels whenever he finally reaches the end of a case, no more mystery left to unravel.  
  
Now, there's only one thing left that Saihara wants.  
  
Closing his eyes and holding his breath, he smiles, raises the knife once more, and pierces his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for always making saihara a terrible person in my fics. also no, ouma's situation is totally not me projecting my own problems onto him /s


End file.
